Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Processing

This was written last night, when things always seem darker than they are...  I took it down this morning because it's such a raw post.  I consider myself a pretty open person, so for me to second guess this post says a lot.  But I want to remember this time, all of  it.  But you are forewarned... 

Have you ever had that moment, when you know you're suddenly existing outside of yourself? It happened tonight. Actually, it's been happening entirely too much lately.  But tonight I stood there, in the middle of the kitchen. Jon and Hudson were going over letters of the alphabet, letters that he should know by now but doesn't yet. Devyn was interjecting, ready to help, often talking over her dad. Reagan was trying to show Jon just how smart she was, and Ashlynn was shrieking her dissatisfaction that she was hungry and no dinner was set before her yet.

I stood there, aware of the chaos, chicken baked and ready to serve. I knew a side dish was required, but I couldn't decide between the rice or potatoes. And as I wondered which required less effort, trying to grab at the elusive logic that this decision should be easy, it happened. The chaos dimmed to a loud roar, no words or voices were heard, just one indecipherable roar. And I pressed my fingers into my eyes, begging myself not to lose it. Not here, not now. The tears squeezed their way through anyway, and in that moment, I decided silent sobs were as painful as loud ones. I wasn't sure why I was crying, I've been doing so much of it lately. I cried reading about Sarah's infertility in 1 Samuel this morning, so I could very well have cried over my inability to choose between rice and potatoes.  Who knows?

Dad's oncologist appointment this afternoon left me more rattled than the actual diagnosis itself. I loved the doctor, he was thorough, personable, and humorous. Everything said through his thick Italian accent made me like him even more. He was positive, encouraging, and gave us his honest opinions. It was refreshing and exactly what we needed.

Which made the things he said, and didn't say, even harder to hear. Yes, he thinks the cancer is bigger and more aggressive than the biopsy shows. Yes, he recommends full removal of the prostate. Yes, Dad's situation is rare but they've seen this before. Yes, he does think Dad will be cured. But don't be surprised if at the follow-up appointment, after surgery, that radiation is still recommended.

I wasn't prepared for this. I was expecting to hear how low risk Dad was; I expected to hear how common this is in men and how fast this would be fixed.  I actually had a script of how it was going to go and the doctor basically said all of his lines wrong.

I want to walk this journey with poise and grace; I want others to see God in all of this. But I also need to be real. And this is hard. This whole year? It has broken me. On the way home, I actually reached for the phone to call Grandma. I can't believe that I forgot for a minute that I wouldn't hear her reassuring words. I bawled telling Jon that story in bed tonight.  I want her here right now, so bad, I physically ache.

This Christmas season was already going to be hard. It was always her season. Begging Mom to go shopping with her... making us go shopping with her. She lived for Christmas mornings, she delighted in watching her great-grandchildren shout and squeal in excitement over gifts she bought. She prided herself on the Christmas dinner. It was already going to be hard!

And now this...

I don't know. I don't get it. I don't have answers or easy fixes. I don't understand what God is doing here. Am I still confident in His goodness? His sovereignty? Of course. Will I still sing his praises? Absolutely. But I get to be mad. And scared. I can be confused by His plans and wonder at the bigger picture. He's bigger than my doubt and human emotions. And even though He knows how it all turns out and why it must happen right now, in this way, He's hurting with me. There's comfort in that...

But right now, I need a few days, I need some time, because I'm not ok. I'm a bundle of exposed nerves and hurt and anger. I don't like not having the right answer, or right thing to say. So it's better to sit still and say nothing at all...

11 comments:

Ashley @ This girl is... said...

When I was diagnosed with my cancer I didn't freak out at first... my cancer was caught early and I'm expected to make a full recovery. The panic and fear set in for me when my dad started crying at the news of my diagnosis. At first, I couldn't comprehend why he was so upset but then I realized that my cancer would be affecting not just me but everyone around me. The point of this ramble is that you and your family's support will be your father's greatest asset in this battle. Sending prayers and hugs your way.

komal said...

It's ok to feel overwhelmed and upset about the entire situation. But keep praying and believing in God. Praying for you and your family!

Lauren said...

I know all too well, unfortunatel,y all the emotions you are going through having had my dad pass away from brain cancer earlier this year!!! If you need anything at all, I am here, just a phone call or text away!! Love you! Praying! Xo

Timmarie said...

Jenn, this post is absolutely beautiful. Your honesty about it all is so refreshing, and is a megaphone that shouts God's glory. He doesn't ask us for faith that seems to act without anger,hurt or doubt, but for vulnerability in our relationship with Him.
Praying for your family. Much love from AZ.

Lisa C said...

Your post is wonderful. We go through valleys but the best thing about valleys is there is a hill with a wonderful view eventually. I have always thought that I could gladly travel valleys alone -- if it weren't for what it does to my family. You sound strong and you sound as if you have a strong mate. Just know that joy comes in the morning -- sometimes the night is just longer than we wish it to be.

Meghan said...

I feel like I'm not sure what to say, but know that this is a normal feeling! When my Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer the first time, my whole family was devastated and we took a couple of weeks to cry and ask Why? & then we had to remember God had this all in His master plan, did we still hurt for my Grandpa? Yes. Were there days that I still had to remind myself that He was in all of this? YES! & learning just a few weeks ago that my Grandpa's cancer was back once again? Killed me inside. I was only 14 & naive the first time it happened, this time I know what can happen and there are still days I freak out about the what-if's, all of this to say, my family is covering yours in prayer. *hugs* to a wonderful woman.

Ashley said...

Oh Jenn, I'm praying so hard for your dad and your whole family!

Christine said...

I love that this post is so honest and raw. Like you said, I think it's good to document every emotion, every step. It's a rollercoaster. I'm fine one moment and then I'm not. My faith is SO strong one moment, and then I find myself asking the "why", "how" and "what-if" questions. I know God can deal with all of it, and though we may not feel it at times, he is carrying all of us through this. The songs that keep coming to mind for me is "I Will Praise You In This Storm" and "Our God Is Greater".

Lexie Loo, Lily Boo, and Dylan Too! said...

I'm so sorry you're going through this. It is very difficult. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.

P!nky said...

So sorry you are dealing with the loss of a loved one through the holidays. That's so hard.

Sending you prayers and a hug.

Love in Him!

Kay Holt said...

I ache for you and I pray for you. Hugs to you and your family.

xoxo

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